


Laughing

by be11atrixthestrange



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be11atrixthestrange/pseuds/be11atrixthestrange
Summary: George grieves Fred after the battle, and finds a moment of connection with Ron
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Laughing

Laughter was common at every Weasley family dinner, and tonight's event was no exception. But the laughter at the table tonight was different. Whether it was forced, fake, or just a facade for deeper dark emotion, it felt out of place.

Maybe it was because George's melodious laugh was missing from the chorus of quiet chuckles, or because "quiet chuckles" would never have been an accurate description for Weasley laughter before. It seemed that everyone was unsure if they were even _allowed_ to laugh, but chose to do so because, solemn silence would have been an acknowledgement that something was wrong. So they _chuckled quietly_ , to avoid the uncomfortable, grief-ridden family dinner that would have been more appropriate.

The war was over. The battle won. Over the last few months, George had pictured what "over" could have looked like many times, but he had never pictured this. He glanced around the room, his eyes studying the remaining Weasleys. Since the battle, George had spent these dinners observing his grieving family.

His mother and father sat next to each other on the far end of the table. Molly's ashen face showed no emotion. Her eyes darted back and forth from plate to plate, looking for empty spaces that could use another helping of food. That made sense for his mother- she would feign normalcy to prevent suffering from overtaking her children. If possible, she would choose to feel it all herself, so no one else had to. George felt a rush of affection for his mother, followed by a conglomeration of anger, guilt, sadness, and indifference when he realized her plan wasn't working. Her children couldn't possibly feel any more pain, no matter how much of it Molly tried to take on for them. Her shattered, stoic expression only further burdened those she was trying to help- like Arthur.

Arthur, his father, who sat beside her, quickly glanced away when George made eye contact. He had been carefully observing George, as well as his wife. Unlike Molly, he wasn't trying to hide his grief. Dark, prominent circles engulfed his watery, bloodshot eyes, which threatened to unleash more tears at any moment. Strangely, this comforted George, who saw a lot of himself in his father. The Weasley men had always been an emotional bunch, and Arthur was quick to encourage his sons to tune in. George could be sure that he was bursting with both grief and love, which gave him an ounce of hope that he'd get to that place someday too.

Love. Usually spoken of in positive terms, George could only feel resentful of those he loved. His loved ones were hurting too, and if only he could stop loving them, he could feel indifferent to their pain.

Like Ginny- George almost didn't notice his sister sitting across from him. She was usually so talkative, but now she sat in complete silence as conversation echoed around her. She ate her dinner mechanically, lazily dragging her fork around her plate. Harry sat silently next to her, but this wasn't new for him- The Chosen One had never been a man of many words. However, Ginny usually carried the conversation for everyone else at the table. Though silent, and obviously grieving, George knew she was tough- growing up with six older brothers will do that. She also radiated self-assuredness and had a better understanding of her emotions than anyone else at this table. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been absent from Hogwarts last year, George had learned that Ginny was a lot like him- her bubbly personality depended on being surrounded by her loved ones.

Next to Ginny sat Percy. He wasn't eating either, just moving food around his plate with his fork. He looked exhausted and anxious, as was typical for Percy who was always exhausted and anxious. Percy worked hard, and expected others to work themselves to exhaustion too. Fred and George never agreed- they prioritized leisure over work, clashing with Percy because of it. George had mixed feelings about his older brother. Of course he still felt resentment toward Percy for estranging himself from the family, but he also just felt sorry for him. He missed out on so much time with Fred.

George shifted his gaze the other end of the table, to the source of the quiet chuckles and controlled conversation. Someone must have said something clever, because his oldest brother Bill and his wife, Fleur both showed weary smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. Fleur's halfhearted laugh was a feeble attempt to mask concern for her husband. She kept her attention on Bill, constantly assessing his emotional state, even while faking her way through a conversation with someone else. Bill on the other hand, wore a similar expression to Molly- a cold emotionless mask that didn't fool anyone, as if he believed that his outward grief was unwelcome.

Charlie was actively listening to his brother Ron, nodding along as he continued what appeared to be quite an eventful tale, perfect for a distraction from the current state of suffering. George overheard a few comments about a dragon- no wonder Charlie was invested. George would have to ask Ron about his dragon encounter later. Narrowing his eyes at Charlie, George realized he seemed unsure how to act. Charlie was a lot like George and Ginny. He escaped his grief by studying others and externalizing his emotions. George wondered if Charlie had spent as much time as George studying everyone else at the table.

Across from Charlie, and next to Ron, sat Hermione. As evidenced by their most recent behavior, they had grown closer. _What a weird time to start a relationship._ He studied Hermione for a few moments. There was something calculated in her actions. She had never shied away from expressing her emotions or speaking her mind, which made her easy to read. She could run short on patience, which caused her supportive words to be mistaken for pressure and nagging. As she held Ron's hand, George wondered if she was subconsciously projecting her grief process onto him. What was Ron's grief process, anyway?

George turned to study Ron, who appeared to show no signs of current grief- but unlike his mother and Bill, his expression didn't show restraint, either. He genuinely seemed to be enjoying his dinner, and his conversation. However, his eyes were bloodshot like he had been crying earlier. This was new- George didn't know Ron to cry. As the youngest brother, he tried to act tough, but George knew he was a sensitive bloke. Ron was a lot like Fred- he had the emotional range of the Great Lake, but only a select few had the privilege of knowing that. He watched Ron let go of Hermione's hand to lay a comforting arm around her shoulders. _He'll be ok._

When the dinner conversation died down, and everyone began to clean up their plates, George followed suit. He entered the kitchen to wash and store his dinnerware, simply going through the motions to blend in and keep any unwanted attention at bay.

"George, sweetie." He nearly ran into his mother on his way out. She paused, before pulling him into a tight embrace that was clearly intended to comfort Molly rather than George. He obliged, not wanting to cause her any more hurt by rejecting her hug. "What's this George?" Mrs. Weasley pulled back from George to examine his shirt sleeve. "Oh George, you have a stain on your sleeve." She turned her watery gaze back to meet his. "I can wash it for you."

Molly typically turned to chores as distractions in difficult times, but George needed to keep busy. "It's alright mum," said George in the steadiest voice he could manage. "I'll do it." He moved past his mother and climbed the stairs to his room.

Upstairs, George pulled off his shirt as the door to his room slammed shut. He didn't mean to slam it- sometimes George didn't know his own strength, and at this particular moment, he didn't have the energy to control it.

Turning his shirt over in his hand, George located the stain on his sleeve- a rather large, bright purple stain that circled the cuff, as if it had been splattered with purple paint. George reached for his wand, but before he could perform a cleaning spell, he froze, remembering the source of the stain.

He had stained his jumper just a few days before the battle, when he and Fred had been passing the time by brainstorming new products for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He could hear Fred's voice loud and clear in his memory...

* * *

"You said we needed something practical, but what I think everyone needs right now is a laugh." Fred was sitting back in his chair, with his legs extended on his bed. In his hand was a small bottle, which he skillfully tossed and caught above his head.

George raised his eyebrows at the rattling bottle. "Is that a prototype?"

"That it is. Would you like to be a tester?" Fred caught the bottle again and smiled at his brother.

George laughed. "That depends. Tell me what it is first. You know I don't trust us."

With a mischievous grin, Fred sat up, swinging his legs from the bed to the ground. "This, George,' Fred held up the bottle and gave it a shake so George could see the contents inside- a handful of purple pills ricocheted against the inside of the bottle. "Is my first attempt at Laughing Lozenges."

George narrowed his eyes at his brother. "So…they make you laugh?"

"Erm… sort of. Though that may be more of a side effect." Fred beamed mischievously.

"And, you haven't tested them yet?" said George, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Oh I've tried them." said Fred with a laugh. "They do what they're supposed to do. There are just a few kinks to work out, and I'll need your help, if you'd be so kind to assist me."

"Alrighty then. What do they do?" George asked as he sat up a little straighter.

"They're supposed to make things funny."

George couldn't suppress the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth. "Fred, if you want me to try one, you'll have to give me more details."

Fred shook his head. "I'll have to show you." He raised the bottle as if to give George a closer look. "When I take one, everything will suddenly become hilarious to me," said Fred, as he started unscrewing the bottle cap. He reached in and pulled out a large lozenge- roughly size of a butterbeer cork. "I won't be able to control my laughter, and I'll look like a right idiot, but I'll have a bloody good time looking like one." Fred smiled as he took the Laughing Lozenge into his mouth.

There was a tense silence as George waited for something to happen. And then it happened. Fred's smile widened at his brother and he opened his mouth and let out a hysterical howl, eyes watering as he tried to stifle his uncontrollable laughter.

George, utterly confused, simply scowled back at him. "Wait… what was funny? Me doing nothing?" Fred nearly fell out of his chair as his body convulsed with laughter. George shook his head. "Man, you could make Umbridge funny with these."

At that comment, Fred did fall out of his chair, clutching at his sides. He was beaming through his watery eyes when his laughter turned into a hiccup, which only caused him to roar with more laughter. "That's hilarious…. Umbridge… telling jokes…," red-faced Fred placed a hand on his chest as he let out some air to steady his breath. He avoided George's eyes until he was physically capable of laughing again.

"You were right about two things, you do look like an idiot." George shook his head, confused by Fred's behavior. Fred responded by rolling over on the floor as he burst into another round of cackles. George reached for the bottle. "And people really could use a laugh right now." He tentatively unscrewed the bottle, and reached inside for a pill. He was about to place it into his mouth when he hesitated. What would happen when Fred's laughter caused George to laugh, further increasing Fred's laughing… could the endless loop of laughter be one of the issues Fred had mentioned before?

With Fred's muffled giggles in the background George squinted at the cork-sized lozenge. And then something unexpected happened. The lozenge started swelling, slowly at first, then faster, as George gingerly held it out in front of him. Soon he was clutching it with his entire hand as it swelled to size of a water balloon. "Fred! What the-"

POP!

The giant pill burst open as a thick purple substance exploded everywhere. George froze as it splattered the walls, leaving a purple streak on Fred's bed, his chair, the floor, and the sleeve of George's jumper.

"That's the issue!" Fred roared. 'If you hesitate….. ," pausing to catch his breath, he continued. "It explodes!" Heaving, Fred sat up and looked at his brother. "I don't know how to fix it."

Chuckling, George shook some of the purple goo from his sleeve. "I don't think that'll be too hard to figure out."

Fred pressed himself up from the floor, still giggling. "Maybe we shouldn't fix it, it's pretty funny after all," he breathed as he collapsed on the bed, clearly unconcerned by the sticky purple substance that now covered his own clothing.

"Whatever you say, brother," said George, joining his twin with his own laughter.

* * *

Back in his bedroom, George clutched his jumper tightly, holding his wand up to the stain. Unshed tears stung in his eyes, his throat felt tight and constricted, and his wand hand shook. How could he have forgotten that moment?

George tried to remember the last few days before the battle, but each attempt at recalling a memory felt like a deep-dive into a sea of unfiltered emotion that he was unprepared for. His eyes stung painfully as he pulled himself away from those last few joyous days, unwilling to ruin the memory with today's heavy grief. When George opened his eyes to a wet and blurry bedroom, the purple stain caught his eye and demanded action. He glared at the violent reminder of his carefree and joyful twin brother. To George, that stain was a taunt, symbolic of something he would never experience again. Laughter. Wholeness. He steadied his wand hand to mutter a cleaning incantation.

But he couldn't do it. He opened his mouth to perform the spell when a sob unexpectedly escaped his lips. He clasped a hand over his mouth, hoping that no one outside his room had heard him. Ironically the stain left by the Laughing Lozenge could only make him sob. He lowered his wand from the stain when anger began to boil up within him.

George crumpled up his jumper and hurled it across the room. A storm of emotion emerged from him as anger, and the only place to direct it was at his twin. He knew it was unfair, but he was angry at Fred for leaving him. "DAMMIT FRED!" Of course Fred couldn't hear him- he was yelling at a jumper, after all. But it was more than that- it was evidence that Fred was alive just days ago, and his memory could be painfully triggered by something as mundane as a shirt stain.

All George could hear was Fred laughing. He was known for it. It's what he made others do.

Then George shuddered at the another memory- Fred's face frozen in laughter. He was laughing when he died.

"STOP LAUGHING! INCENDIO."

This must be what broken people do. Talk to jumpers. Scream at dead people. Burn things. George couldn't explain it if he tried. He didn't care if he looked like an idiot.

But when the jumper caught fire, George panicked.

"FRED! NO!" George tightened his grip on his wand, and pointed it at the flames when his own bedroom door burst open.

"Aguamenti." A stream of water erupted from the doorway, smothering the flames that danced at the far end of the room. George didn't look up to see who it was, he knew by the voice.

The flames died down revealing a singed pile of fabric; one sleeve was still intact, extending long on the floor. Around the hem of the sleeve was the purple reminder of Fred's Laughing Lozenge, undamaged, undying. Ron cautiously sat down next to his brother. George buried his head in his hands and felt his neck and ears heat up. His eyes continued to sting, and his throat was sore and constricted. He couldn't have spoken even if he wanted to.

"Do you want to be alone?" George stiffened at Ron's question. _Alone_.

George had never been alone before. He didn't know how to be alone. No one had ever asked him that question- Fred would have never have considered the possibility of leaving him alone.

After a few moments of silence, George shook his head no.

George sat next to his little brother on the bedroom floor, forcing himself to keep breathing. His breath began to quicken, and he felt Ron's comforting hand on his shoulder. As if someone had unplugged his tear ducts, George began to sob, unleashing a surge of emotion so strong and furious. Letting his grief take control, it burst from him violently, angry at being ignored, packed down so uncaringly into something as small as a bottle of purple pills.

With no pride left to swallow, and no energy to swallow it, George let his little brother hold him and cry with him until they were both numb.


End file.
